


Baker!Tom

by sailorkittycat



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Baker!Tom, Baking, Blindfolds, Bread, Cake, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Food, Frosting, Gingerbread House, Icing, Light BDSM, au!tom, taste test, wedding cake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 17:26:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8676253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorkittycat/pseuds/sailorkittycat
Summary: OC has been dragged along to a cake tasting for her best friend’s upcoming wedding and the day holds something more delicious than just cake





	1. Cake Tasting

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be cute and fluffy but it morphed into something more… Suggestive. I hope you like it regardless of my gutter dwelling mind.

Sara had begged and begged me to come with her and I had finally caved into her demands, which had resulted in me moving around appointments and making numerous phone calls in order to free up my schedule to go cake testing with the bride to be.

“Why couldn’t you ask Erick to come with you?” I groaned as I trailed behind her into the building “it’s his cake too.” I must have sounded like a petulant five year old because Sara gave me a look akin to one a mother would shoot at her whining child. It shut me right up but I was determined to not give up with my I-don’t-want-to-be-here attitude.

“Because he’s away for business and I want my maid of honour to help me in his absence” she said, grabbing my arm and pulling me in “come on!” It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate the role she had given me as maid of honour, nor that I didn’t enjoy helping my best friend plan her wedding but I was exhausted. Exhausted of flipping through bridal magazines and picking the perfect swirly font for the invitations and looking at identical swatches of white fabric and having to pick (as if there was a difference between ghost white and white smoke) It didn’t help that it served as a crippling reminder of how single I was; it had gotten to the point where upon complaining to own mother about the whole ordeal of wedding planning and expecting sympathy in return, she had morphed the conversation into a lecture about how Sara had the ‘right idea’ and I needed to, quote: ‘hurry up and get hitched before my yearbook prediction of becoming a crazy cat lady came true.’

I contemplated on what my fellow students had assumed of my future, and had the shocking realisation that perhaps the prophecy was becoming fulfilled. I only had one cat; Atticus, but that’s how it started, right? First you get one and then another and another… until your home was filled with hair balls and incessant meowing, to the point where you would star on an episode of ‘Animal Hoarders’ and yet, would still not realise the problem with owning sixty four cats and counting.

A plate was placed in front of me, snapping me out of my twisted, kitty cat induced daydream. “Madagascan Vanilla Sponge with Madagascan Vanilla Swiss Meringue Buttercream & Le Comtes de Provence Raspberry Jam” a blonde woman, with a particularly meticulous bun announced and I looked at Sara who hummed in approval, as she ate a small piece.

“Try it, it’s good” Sara said, clearly enjoying the over glorified Victoria sponge. I smiled politely, feeling the weight of the woman and Sara’s stare as I spooned a small portion into my mouth. It was glorious, moist and warm and sweet in my mouth. It was no exaggeration to say my taste buds were rejoicing in the desert.

“Holy shit” I blurted out, earning me a frown from the older, blonde woman “it’s so good. Pick this one!”

Sara laughed “we have to try all of them first before making a decision.”

We continued to taste, working our way through zingy Sicilian lemon sponge and luxurious Belgian chocolate and even red velvet; which I had taken so much pleasure from eating that I polished off the entire slice, as well as using some ‘choice words’ in describing how delicious it had been. It was a difficult decision but the ‘Fresh Raspberry & Vanilla Sponge with Fresh Raspberry Swiss Meringue Buttercream’ was the winner. 

“I am so going to fuck the baker” I said to Sara who snorted at my comments and gained me, yet another dirty look from the blonde lady, who was on her way to go fetch, said baker.

Sara sipped at her complimentary Earl Grey “I knew cake tasting would cheer you up” she said knowingly “do you want more chai?” She refilled my delicate white and gold tea cup with tea and I thanked her before her phone started buzzing, demanding her attention.

“It’s Erick” she said, taking the phone “tell the baker I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Tell Erick I said hi and that we picked a cake made entirely out of bacon” I said, as she got up.

“As if he’s going to believe that I’m eating bacon” she said, sticking out her tongue at me as she took her call. In the meantime I pondered over how much halal chicken she was going to have to order, to satisfy the legions of family members (from both sides) that were due to come. It was apparently, going to be a big wedding. She had nudged me teasingly, telling me that she had a lot of single cousins, as did Erick. I had informed her that I was focused on my career and that I was going to let love find me. It was at that memory that someone sat across from me, prompting me to look up.

“Hi, I’m Tom, the baker” he said “are you Sara?” I failed to answer for a few seconds because the baker had a pair of spectacular blue eyes and it rendered me incapable of speech.

“Um, no” I said, trying to play it cool in front of this ridiculously gorgeous man “I’m just the maid of honour, the actual bride is talking to her fiancé on the phone but she’ll be back in a minute.”

“No worries” Tom said with a carefree smile “may I ask your name then?”

“I’m Sophie” I said, shaking his outstretched hand. I almost jumped at the crackle of electricity I felt as his hand clasped mine. Surely it couldn’t have only been something I felt.

His grin enlarged “ah, so you’re the naughty girl with the dirty mouth I’ve been hearing about from Karen.”

“I’m the what with the what?” I jabbered; my eyes were wide as dinner plates at this point.

He laughed “Karen told me that you’ve been, uh, particularly enthusiastic about my baking” he grinned “to the point where you’ve used a handful of taboo words to express your satisfaction.” My cheeks felt warm, firstly out of embarrassment and secondly, from how low his voice had dipped. Was he flirting with me?

“What can I say” I said, leaning my forearms on the table in (what I hoped) would be a slightly more alluring position “I have a sweet tooth and a filthy mouth.” Oh, my God, did I actually say that? He seemed to like it though, mirroring my position and darting his tongue out to lick his lips.

The sound of Sara clearing her throat made the two of us look up at her and Tom instantly rose to stand, offering his hand and introducing himself. I took the time to admire how tall he was; even in his working attire, he was still undeniably attractive. He had a profile worth swooning over; all sharp and angular.

“I’d hate to cut myself on those” Sara whispered in my ear as she sat down next to me, while Tom took out a notepad and pen. His cheekbones were rather sharp, I supposed. “Go for it” she encouraged.

“Shut up” I mumbled, scandalised that she was willing to talk about him whilst sitting in front of him.

“Close your mouth, you’re drooling” she whispered back and I instantly touched the side of my mouth, finding my skin to be dry instead of wet. She giggled and I looked at Tom rifling through the pages of his notebook for a clear page. I wasn’t sure whether or not he heard as he had been distracted but the corner of his mouth turned upwards in a smirk, as if he had heard.

I resolved to stay quiet and not embarrass myself anymore as the two of them hashed out the details, but his gaze would brush past me, making it impossible to not make eye contact with him. He’d only hold it for a fraction of a second before looking down at the page and scribbling some notes on buttercream or flowers. When they were done, Tom shook hands were Sara first and then me.

“Wonderful to meet you, both of you” Tom said, looking at me in particular as he delivered the second part of his sentence. I was just as reluctant to go and I was to come in the first place, especially as Tom the hot baker hadn’t given me his number.

“Crap!” Sara cursed, feeling her pockets “ugh, I think I’ve forgotten my phone. Can you run back inside and grab it for me?”

I stared at her “you’re not subtle at all.”

“Neither are you” she quipped “go on” she said, playfully winking at me.

When I made my way back inside, Tom was standing at the doorway, holding Sara’s phone and he smiled when he saw me.

“I think this belongs to the bride” he said, handing me the device.

“It does indeed” I said “how astute of you.”

“I’m a man of many talents.”

“Oh, I have no doubt” I murmured, making him grin devilishly “is one of them giving me your number?”

“Yes, and another is thinking ahead” he said handing me his number on a ripped sheet of paper, with a wink “perhaps this Friday you can tell me more about this plan I’ve heard so much about.”

“Plan?” I repeated “what plan?”

He leaned in close, his lips brushing past the shell of my ear “why, the plan that involves fucking the baker, of course.”


	2. Sweet Tooth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baker Tom has a surprise for the OC, which includes a twist on the classic blind taste test

The prospect of wedding dress shopping would have once struck me as dull; a total slap in the face, just to remind me of how much I was not getting married, despite everyone telling me that time was ticking away. Yet, today I was in much higher spirits as I followed my best friend and bride-to-be, Sara, into the boutique. I would have put it down to a few factors: firstly, the wedding dress shop served free refreshments, which I was sure to indulge in; secondly, I was actually beginning to enjoy the wedding vibes I had been surrounded with, despite hating them not too long ago; thirdly, my baker boyfriend (could I call him that yet?) had texted me some rather vague, yet steamy messages regarding our date later that evening. He had suggested to keep it fairly casual seeing as it was the end of the week and we could finally relax, but he had also mentioned a surprise that promised to satisfy me ‘in more than one way.’

My curiosity had reached an all time high, making me beg him through texts to give me a hint or two but he kept his cards close to his chest, telling me that I’d have to be patient. I huffed, earning me a nudge from fellow bridesmaid, Rae, who I’d been friends with for years. It prompted me to put my phone away just as Sara reappeared in a white gown that no doubt, would cost a bomb. She really hit the jackpot with Erick, who was handsome and funny and absolutely filthy rich.

The dress looked like it was worth it though; the white silk and embroidery looked incredibly detailed, causing us all to ooh and ah at the sheer perfection of the dress. It looked beautiful. Sara looked beautiful. I may or may not have had tears in my eyes but I didn’t seem to be alone, a few other women, including Sara’s mother, blotted their tears after casting their gaze on Sara. Part of the reason I hadn’t enjoyed wedding planning was the coming to terms of growing up. It seemed only yesterday we were seventeen and hanging out in coffee shops, complaining about school and boys and the future. Ten years had whizzed by and now we had careers and lives and weddings.

“I want to try on others, but this could be the one” Sara said, admiring the dress in the mirror.

“Try on the white one” I called out to her, desperate to distract myself with silly jokes instead of blubbering like the sentimental fool I was.

She rolled her eyes but grinned “oh yeah, I was thinking of trying that one on too.”

Try it on she did. She had managed to try on a number of different wedding dresses until she settled back on the first one.

“The Elie Saab dress just feels like my dress” she said in justification, the rest of us agreed, the dress suited her perfectly, as if crafted especially for her.

“It really is beautiful” I said to her on the way out “I don’t even want to think about how much it costs.”

“It’s worth it” Sara said, slipping on her Ray Bans to shield her against the setting sun “you’ll know what I mean when Tom pops the question.”

“Sara!” my elbow nudged her “I’m not thinking that far ahead, just yet.”

“Then how far are you thinking ahead?”

“Tonight” I grinned.

***

Dinner was nice; simple just like he had said but I wouldn’t have been able to stomach anything more, seeing as a colony of butterflies had set up shop in my stomach. Impatient as ever, my leg jittered under the table and Tom raised an eyebrow but his smirk told me that he knew how eager I was.

“Not too long now” he said, winking at me which did nothing to calm down the fluttering sensation.

“Tell me” I begged “please, please, please” I batted my eyelashes in the hope that I could convince him to divulge his secret but he just laughed.

“Oh no, I’m not falling for that one” he said “although really, it’s not something to tell as such. It’s something to experience.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You’ll see.”

He distracted me with conversation while he put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, rejecting my offer of help. Honestly, the conversation was interesting and fun and light but my eyes were trained on him, admiring how the white shirt clung to him and the tight fit of his jeans. It was akin to a form of torture and I knew from the glances he had directed at me throughout dinner, that I couldn’t be the only one feeling the burn. I had worn red, hoping that the connotations of the colour would inform him of my desires for the evening; not to mention that red looks pretty banging against brown skin, which would support my primary point hopefully.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice was a few octaves lower than usual and made me snap my head up suddenly as he approached me.

“Yes” I said confidently, happy to finally find out the surprise he had in store for me.

“Are you sure?”

“Tom!” I whined and he laughed.

“Convince me” he purred, his fingers gripped my chin, tilting it up to give him a better angle. His lips are chapped, especially compared to my own but it’s quickly solved as his tongue coaxes mine to play with his. I give in; regardless of the speed we’re progressing at and my eyes proceed from half-lidded to being fully closed. His hand still holds my chin, controlling the action but he lets my own hands wander upwards, one rests on his shoulder and the other rakes through his dark brown hair, it’s softer than I expected and I take the time to feel and play and tug the strands, earning me a groan as he moves his lips to my neck.

His tongue swirls around my pulse point in intoxicating circles, and I can’t help but let out a breathy moan. The sound seems to please him and my breath hitches as he starts sucking at the skin; teasing with his teeth. Half of me worries over the prospect of him sinking his teeth into me, seeing as no one ever had before, but the other half is curious and finds the idea thrilling. It sends shivers down my spine.

He distracts me from my inner conflict with his hands, they have since abandoned my chin, trusting me to maintain the position and grant him the access to my throat. Instead, his hands seem interested in the material of my dress; cupping my breasts and feeling the lace of my bra through the thin material. I whimper, wanting him to touch me minus all the layers of clothing and then I yelp as his other hand travels down to the skirt of my dress before disappearing underneath it. His touch leaves a trail of warmth which fizzes all the way to between my legs, making me dissolve into a series of moans and whines and heavy breathing. His index finger traces a line down the matching lace panties, feeling my wetness seep through the flimsy material and dampen his finger.

“Tom” I groan as he pulls himself away, his pupils are blown wide, giving him a hungry look as he leers down at me.

His smirk is feral “I believe you’re ready.” He helps me up from the kitchen chair and I only begin to realise how weak my legs have become, fortunately, Tom seems ready to aid my problem and picks me up, tossing me over his shoulder as I squeal.

“Are you going to tell me what the surprise is now?” I ask.

“I told you, it’s something to experience, not tell.”

“You’re unfair” I whine and he gives me a playful spank, making me giggle as he places me on the bed.

“All will be revealed” he promises “but first, this dress simply, must come off.” I let him unzip the back and wriggle out of it before he discards it on the floor along with my bra and panties.

“Lie back, darling” he commands gently and I do what he tells me to, as he retrieves something from his bedside table. My heart beat spikes as soon as I realise that it’s a crimson silk scarf.

“Do you object to being blindfolded?” He asks, his voice is just as silky as the material in his hands and for a moment I’m lost for words. My sex life, up to that point, had been fairly vanilla and I had been satisfied with it being just that, but I was intrigued by what Tom was offering, so I shake my head.

“No” I said “but I’ve never been blindfolded before” he pauses and smiles.

“I promise that you’ll like what I have planned but in the event that you don’t, let me know, okay?”

“Okay” I nod in agreement and allow him to tie the silk scarf around me so that I see nothing but black. He asks if it needs adjustments and if I can still see, but I assure him that it’s fine.

“Usually I’d tie you up too but I think we should start slow” he says, guiding me so that I can lie down comfortably.

“I wouldn’t mind” I blurt out and he laughs.

“Neither would I” he presses a soft kiss on my stomach “but I really do insist that we take our time. I need you to wait here for just a few moments before we begin.” He leaves and I take the time to adjust to having no vision, the sensation is odd, I find myself needing to rely on every other sense more heavily than before. The bed feels nice underneath the palms of my hand and I feel my heart leap into my mouth as my ears pick up on Tom’s footsteps.

“Desert is served” he announces and before I can ask, something cold drops onto my right nipple. I gasp out of pure surprise and then again, out of lust as I feel Tom’s tongue lapping at me. He made a soft ‘mmm’ sound as he sucked away at the mysterious substance.

“Open” he said, tapping a finger on my swollen lips and I opened my mouth to feel the same substance on my tongue. It was sweet and creamy and tasted strongly of vanilla, so I wrapped my lips around Tom’s finger, sucking the sugar off, causing him to groan.

“Is that icing?” I asked, trying to place the familiar taste.

“Vanilla buttercream; I need your opinion on which you like better” he said, feeding me another dollop “also, I wanted to have some fun” he admits as sounds of satisfaction leave my lips.

“Well I’m having a good time” I say, scarcely believing that I was naked, blindfolded on a bed while an attractive man, finger fed me icing. Honestly, it sounded more like a weird dream I would have, but I wasn’t ready to wake up just yet. “What’s the other icing?”

“You tell me” he offers me a swirl of the frosting and it’s much sweeter than its predecessor, it reminds me of crème brûlée or something similar.

“Is it… Caramel? Or Toffee maybe?”

“Caramel” he says, the intonation of his voice makes the confirmation of the answer sound akin to praise, I can’t help but take pride in it.

“Both are good” I concede, arching my back a little as he spreads some icing on my stomach before lapping it off.

“Hmmm both do taste rather good, but I wonder if that’s only because it’s being served on you” he ponders, before feeding me two fingers, each with the different flavour “but if you had to make a decision…”

“Caramel” I decide “it’s very sweet, just the way I like it.”

“I knew you had a sweet tooth” He said, the mattress bounces as he climbs off of me and I strain to hear the sound of his zipper before he gets back onto the bed. He doesn’t straddle me like before however, instead he kisses me a few more times; keeping the fire he lit in me burning even hotter now. He trails kisses down me until he reaches my legs, which spread apart by their own accord. His tongue takes one long lick of my slit, making me gasp.

“I have a sweet tooth too” he whispers roguishly against my skin, the warmth of his breath does nothing to quieten my mewling. I had only ever had a few experiences of oral sex, and the experiences themselves were mixed. Some had been amazing and others had been awful, but from the way Tom’s tongue lapped and prodded and circled, it seemed as though this would be not just a good experience, but the best one.

My fingers twist themselves into his hair, subconsciously urging him to keep going, which he does and I’m thankful for every swipe of his talented tongue. I begin to truly appreciate and loathe the blindfold; the sensation is almost overwhelming as I can fully focus on the feeling, but I also find myself desperate to see him; his head framed by my brown thighs, perhaps his eyes would flick up to meet my gaze… The image combined with the sensory overload is too much and my body begins to quiver as I reach my orgasm.

“T-Tom” I warn but it’s difficult to form coherent words, he seems to know though and quickens his actions until I see bright white flashes beneath my eyelids. The come down from the orgasm takes much longer than it usually does. It’s difficult to place exactly what I was feeling and it took a minute or two to realise that Tom had taken off the blindfold, and that I was currently looking at him panting, with my juices glistening on his face.

“Wow” I manage to say and he grins.

“Wow, indeed.” He pauses to brush a few sweat slicked tendrils of hair behind my ear, before leaning down to give me a slow, open mouthed kiss, deliberately done to let me taste myself. He presses against me and I can feel just how hard he is, eliciting another moan from the both of us.

“Tom” I wiggle my hips “please.” He reciprocates, answering my plea for him to be inside of me, with a thrust of his own hips. My legs spread wider to accommodate him and my knees transition from being pressed against my straining breasts, to stretching out; my legs wrap around his body, so that my ankles dig into the flesh of his arse, encouraging his pelvis to be even closer to my own. His forehead presses against mine and I breathe his name faintly once more, to let him know its okay to start moving.

The force of his thrusts were so strong that if he wasn’t holding me in place, I would have slammed against the headboard, and would probably have ended up with a concussion. Not that I would have minded. He was hitting all the right spots, including some that I didn’t know existed, causing a strange, intoxicating concoction of pain and pleasure. My nails scratched down his back as they scrambled about the place desperately for purchase as he pounded into me again, and again; our bodies were angled just so, so that he was grinding against my clit with every erratic thrust and swirl of his skilled hips. The intensity of the strength of him driving into me, coupled with the intensity of his penetrating stare brought on an equally, intense orgasm. My body seized up, squeezing around him and consequently, bringing on his own orgasm, which left us both gasping for breath.

It took us both several minutes before speech, and movement, and normal breathing patterns could return. He rolled off of me, lying against me, drenched in sweat (as was I) and pulls me close to him, gifting me with small, lazy kisses, before we drift off to sleep.


	3. Bread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom has a creative way of helping the OC relieve her anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt 'how about Tom teaching her to bake some bread? Dough kneading...*wink wink* it could go either way; fluffy or smutty. Or both perhaps!'

“Are you kidding me?” I asked eyeing the transparent bowl sitting on Tom’s counter.

“No” Tom said “honest to God, this is the best way to get out your anger, while also being constructive.” He proceeded to sprinkle a handful or two of flour on the counter and tipped the contents of the bowl onto the counter top. He gestured for me to come over and I stood, staring at the dough with distaste. When Tom had encouraged me to come over after I complained to him via capslock and angry emojis about my annoying co-worker, he had offered to help rid me of my frustration, a suggestion, which I was more than willing to take. Then I arrived at his apartment, ready to forget my frustration as well as my own name, but to my surprise (and disappointment) his anger management techniques involved kneading the hell out of some dough and then making bread with it. According to him, anger ‘led to nowhere’, so instead of taking anger out on another purpose, he took it out on a combination of flour, salt, yeast, oil and water. In hindsight, he was right; it was all about taking a useless emotion and using it to make something useful (and delicious) out of it. Yet, I was still feeling angry, although less like I wanted to murder someone and more like I wanted to act like a petulant child.

I played the part well, with a scowl and a pout, even though Tom was being nothing but a sweetheart. I snatched the apron out of his hands and tied the strings around my body, which was still clad in office attire. Hands washed and sleeves rolled up, I was ready to test Tom’s theory. The dough itself, was wet and sticky, a welcome relief after hours of typing and hard desks.

“How do you…” I trailed off, slightly embarrassed that I had never been in contact with dough before. I wasn’t much of a chef; I had just about perfected grilled cheese sandwiches, but making bread was something else altogether. It required technique, which needless to say, I didn’t possess.

I was gracious that Tom was willing to teach me without making fun of my lack of skill. He moved so that he was standing behind me, his arms around me so that his hands rested on top of mine. The pressure of his hands on mine, allowed me to follow his actions.

“Gather it first, like this” he said, working the dough into a ball shape before pressing it down and reshaping it and repeating. It felt reassuring to have Tom behind me, leading me. In the past few months of us dating he had proven to be excellent at taking charge, which was something I wasn’t entirely used to, but somehow it felt effortless to look to him. It made me feel safer than I usually did.

“Now you have to start punching the dough” Tom instructed, removing his hands to sprinkle a little more flour on the dough.

“Punching the dough?” I repeated, my tone laced with uncertainty “o…kay” I made my hand into a fist, resting my thumb onto my knuckle, just like I had been taught.

“Like this” Tom said, correcting my position “press the heel of your hand into the dough and then push forward a little.”

“It’s not really ‘punching the dough’ is it?” I mumbled, continuing to work my hands just as he had told me to. I felt his hot breath waft down my ear and neck as he chuckled in response.

“I suppose not, but it feels good to let out your anger, right?” He asked, watching as I pummelled the dough.

“Stupid David and his stupid questions” I muttered, completely ignoring Tom’s question “why does he have shit for brains?”

“Keep going” Tom encouraged.

“He has two fucking brain cells at the very most and they’re just about as useless as he is!” I could feel my anger renew itself once more; it fizzed through every fibre of my being, setting my nerves on fire.

“What would you say to him if he was here?”

“I’d tell him to fuck right off and to bite me!” I hissed. I realised that the dough had become shiny and smooth from all the kneading, and Tom was right, I did feel relieved.

“Perfect” Tom purred in my ear, looking down at the dough.

“I feel exhausted” I said, lifting my hands away from the dough and clutching the edge of the countertop. My arms ached from all the kneading but I noticed while washing my hands that I felt considerably better.

“Sit, let me take care of the rest” he said and I watched as he picked up and dropped the dough onto the countertop, the ball shape remained intact, which apparently, was a good sign. He pinched the dough and when he was satisfied he leaves in a bowl to proof.

“What do we do now?”

“We have to leave the dough alone for a few hours, what would you like to do?” Tom said, rinsing his hands and drying them.

“We tried your way of relieving anger, now let’s try mine.”


	4. Nice to be naughty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sophie wins the gingerbread house decorating contest, Tom is nice enough to offer one of his presents to her as her prize but things take a naughty turn when she opens it up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt 'How about a reappearance of baker!Tom and assembling a gingerbread house for Christmas prompts? Christmas crackers, pudding, mince pies, cookies...? It's all up to you!'

“No offence, but I think I’ve won” I declared, looking down at my gingerbread house. It was my first time assembling and decorating one, but I felt like I had done a decent job. Okay, so some of the icing was spilling out, and the piping could use some work, but if you didn’t look too hard it was pretty good.

“I don’t know, mine is shaping up pretty well” Tom teased, coming to stand behind me. He wrapped his arms around my waist, looking down at my gingerbread creation.

“It’s not perfect” I said “but it’s meant to be reflective of how life isn’t perfect.”

“Ah, I see” he agreed in a serious voice “so it’s less of a Christmas centre piece, and more of a modern art piece.”

“Exactly” I tilted my head up, trying to read his expression “do you like it?” I asked shyly.

He kissed the top of my head before nuzzling into my curls “I love it” his arms tightened around me, as I felt my cheeks warm from his praise. I had never been a ‘Christmas person’ but when Tom had asked me if I’d like to spend Christmas with him, I could have melted. I had felt an immediate swell of pride when my work colleagues asked what I was doing for the holidays, and I’d been able to respond with ‘oh, nothing much. Just spending Christmas with my boyfriend, yeah it’s no big deal’ when in fact it was a very, very big deal. Such a big deal, that when Sara had called last I had made sure to (not so) casually drop it in, which had naturally resulted in an hour long discussion over my relationship. It felt nice to be able to brag about my favourite baker.

However, when I insisted on seeing said favourite baker’s gingerbread creation, he ceased to hold the title. It was a work of real, legitimate, awe inspiring art.

“What the hell, Tom!?” I grumbled, looking over at his completely perfect gingerbread house. The piping was even, the ratio between gingerbread to icing was balanced, and he had even sprinkled icing sugar on top to look like fake snow.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing! That’s just it!” I pouted, I never could outgrow being a sore loser “the competition was over who could make the best gingerbread house, not gingerbread Sistine chapel!” Tom laughed, finding amusement in my disbelief. I should have known better than to have gone up against him.

“I like yours better” Tom insisted and when I rolled my eyes, he tutted “don’t give me that face, maybe I won’t let you open your present…”

“Present?” I dropped the sulky expression, in exchange for an excited one. I had spent many countless nights wondering what to get Tom for Christmas, and the thrill of him getting me a present too had fuelled me to try and buy the best gift possible for him. Of course, I then realised that I was useless at buying gifts and had to turn to Sara for help. Then, half way through we got distracted over what he would buy for me. I had been itching to find out ever since, and seeing the box wrapped under the tree was simply hell. It was taunting me, I was sure of it. It knew what he had bought me and I didn’t.

“Seeing as you won, you should be allowed to open it, but if you don’t want to accept the fact that you won…”

“No, I accept it” I said quickly, dashing to the tree which sat in the living room. It was dark outside, making the twinkling lights seem even brighter, illuminating the red square box.

“Bring it over here” Tom said, patting his lap as he sat down on the sofa. I hesitated for a moment before walking over to perch on his lap. I had sat on a guy’s lap maybe once in my lifetime, and that was when I was three and my dad begrudgingly let me plop myself on his lap. I was sure that was my first and last time, but then I met Tom who insisted upon it. He liked to hold me close, and admittedly, I liked being close to him, but feeling his hot breath on the shell of my ear and his hand rest on my stomach awakened the butterflies. Every. Damn. Time.

I tear off the wrapping paper in long strips, like an impatient kitten, completely ignoring the tape at the sides of the gift. Underneath the paper lies a soft pink box, with black ribbon and the words ‘Agent Provocateur’ in a swirly font. My mouth went dry. I peeped up at Tom through my eyelashes, my eyebrow raised as if to ask ‘really?’ but he just smiled, the hand that wasn’t holding me stroked his jaw thoughtfully. I ducked my head, gazing at the box momentarily before easing off the lid of the box. Pink tissue paper held together with a single circular sticker is carefully plucked off, and the layers of material revealed red hot lingerie.

“Tom” I croaked, running my finger over the delicate lace.

“Do you like it?” He asked, his voice was barely above a whisper and I could feel his lips graze the outer shell of my ear “I wanted to find the perfect set for you; something that complimented you.”

“Really?” I squeaked, half from how arousing it was to hear about him picking lingerie for me, and half from his hands which had begun to caress me.

“Mmm” he breathed, and I could hear his tongue darting out to wet his lips before he spoke again “I thought this one was perfect for you; the lace, the cute little bows, and not to mention… Wasn’t it you who told me red was your colour?”

I don’t notice my hips rocking as he spoke, but him growling in my ear made me realise how hard he was through his jeans. I could feel him pressing into me, and his hands had rapidly gone from stroking to groping me.

“Will you wear it for me?” Tom asked, his voice was remarkably darker than usual. It held the promise of all the naughty things he’d do to me, so I found myself agreeing before I had really thought about it.

Whilst Tom sat on his bed, I changed into the lingerie in his adjoining bathroom. I clipped the bra on first, admiring the intricate floral lace design against my brown skin. The matching panties were hi-cut, with a single strap of red connecting the material from the front to the back on both my thighs. Then, last came the stockings and suspenders. I had never worn suspenders before, but I found myself working out how to put it on with trembling fingers fairly quickly. I proceeded to spend the next few minutes being totally conceited, adoring the way the colour looked on me, and the way the lingerie gave me the perfect seventies silhouette. I fluffed my hair, applied some lipgloss and sprayed some perfume on before giving myself a thumbs up in the mirror.

I opened the door, my eyes meeting with Tom, who looked just as restless as I had left him. Now, however he sat still, his eyes raking over each delicate piece of lace, making my nipples inadvertently harden, as though his gaze was a cold breeze. Despite the toasty temperature of the room, I felt a shiver run down my spine.

“Come here” Tom demanded in a rough, gravelly voice and I did what he asked, even though my legs felt like jelly. I watched as Tom’s lustful gaze ran over my body; his arousal made his pupils dilate though he had yet to lay a finger on me.

“You look perfect” he declared “I don’t know where to start…”

“May I then?” I asked, my voice was much more confident than I was feeling “I know where I want to start.” My eyes flitted down to the bulge in his jeans, straining for attention that I was willing to give. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he considered my proposal, but I decide to push for it quicker than he can decline.

“Please, Tom” I leaned in close, my hand pushed itself onto his shoulder, letting me get closer to him. My lips could brush his if I tried but I focus on my mission at hand. “Won’t I look even more perfect, in my pretty lingerie between your legs?” His lips are parted, giving way to hot, heavy pants and I revelled in my ability to drive him just as crazy as he drove me. I pulled away and bit my lip, wondering if I was asking for too much, but he agreed, watching as I sank to my knees.

Seeing as I was in such a rare position, I decided to take my time. My hands smoothed themselves up his denim clad thighs, admiring the taut muscle underneath. His hands fall upon his belt, but I stop him with a pout, though he is reluctant to let me have my way. I unbuckle his belt and pull down his zipper at a leisurely pace, even though he’s squirming at this point.

“Sophie” he urged through gritted teeth, as he lifted his hips to allow me to slide both his jeans and his boxers off. I nearly moaned at the sight of him, thick and almost purple with desire, I felt a little thrill run down my spine at how much he loved the sight of me in lingerie.

I start slow. My hand stroked him up and down a few times, until my eyes spied a drop of pre cum ooze out. I lowered my head and Tom collected my hair in a tight ponytail for me, groaning as I kissed the tip of his cock before slipping my lips over the head of it. My tongue swirled in intoxicating swirls, while my hand gripped the base of him, slowly stroking in time to my tongue. Tom growled, half enjoying my attention, half hating me for not sucking him off properly, but before he could say anything in response I let a few inches of him slide into my mouth.

“Fuck!” the expletive spills from his lips along with a series of moans and groans, as my tongue runs down the prominent veins on his cock, taking time to explore the underside of it. He seemed to grip my hair harder when I traced patterns with the tip of my tongue, but I decided to put him out of his misery and suck him.

“Just… Just like that” Tom moaned, and my eyes peered up through my eyelashes to see his eyes closed and his mouth open in pleasure. It sent a bout of wetness to between my legs, making the lace wet and sticky. I tried to take him further down but he was much bigger than I was used to, so I retreated an inch or two, using my hand where my gag reflex would not let me go. I decided to experiment a little, letting my other hand cup his balls and listening to how sharply he gasped when I did so. Between me sucking him, stroking him and fondling him, it didn’t take long for the tell-tale trembling of his thighs to signal the end.

“I’m going to cum” he warned through ragged moans, but I continued to touch him, wanting nothing more than to feel him gushing down my throat. My wish was granted not moments later, accompanied by a loud string of curses on his part. I wipe the side of my mouth with the back of my hand and crawl up onto the bed straddling his fallen form; he lies still as a statue and I kiss his jaw lazily until he comes down from his high. We exchange several, sloppy kisses after and I squeak in surprise when his finger slips into the lace of my new panties.

“Christ” he cursed “you’re positively dripping, darling.”

“All your fault.”

“You’re absolutely right, let me remedy that…”.


End file.
